


Winter wonderland

by fromthedeskoftheraven



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Holidays, Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 14:10:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6082323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedeskoftheraven/pseuds/fromthedeskoftheraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil tries ice skating with his beloved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter wonderland

The quiet shore of the Long Lake, its still darkness usually disturbed only by the soft beat of owls’ wings or the shuffling of a raccoon along the edge of the forest, had come alive with the cheerful gathering on the eve of the winter solstice. Bonfires threw long shadows over glittering, powdery snow, and the air was thick with the scent of mulled wine and the lighthearted chatter of elves, noble and servant alike, emboldened by the knowledge that even their formidable King relinquished his brisk formality to indulge in merriment.

Elves took to the ice singly or in pairs, gliding gracefully on the blades of their skates, delicate shavings of slush trailing behind them in swirling patterns on the lake’s frozen surface. Weaving a path among the skaters, you took a deep breath of the frosty air that pricked and tingled in your lungs and made a last, gleeful twirl before turning toward the lakeshore.

Thranduil himself was ensconced in a chair of branching wood set between two braziers dancing with flames, and he smiled as you approached, your cheeks rosy with exertion and happiness, and extended his gloved hand. You placed your own cold fingers within his grasp and gladly let him draw you to a seat on his lap, enfolded in one edge of his billowing, velvety robe, taking a warming sip from the cup he offered.

His breath was warm on your cheek, and scented comfortingly with wine and spices. “You are content, _meleth?_ ”

“Very,” you smiled, nestling your head into the crook of his neck, adding, “though I should be still more content if you would join me.”

“I was but a child the last time I took to the lake,” he chuckled, reaching for his cup. “And even then, I was not particularly…skilled.” He brought the cup to his lips, nearly swallowing that last word along with the wine, and you smiled gently, no stranger to his pride.

“ _Meleth nín,_ ” you said encouragingly, tracing his pale jawline with your fingertip, “you have no need of skill when you have me to help you.”

The corner of his mouth quirked upward, and you, who knew Thranduil perhaps better than anyone, saw the hint of his wavering resolve.

“It would be very romantic,” you murmured, close to his ear, and his smile slowly broadened. He turned to brush your lips with a feather-light kiss and gave a sigh in which fondness and amusement were mingled.

“I can refuse you nothing, my starlight.”

He left his heavy robe on the chair to await his return and traded his tall boots for a pair of ice skates, and hand in hand you ventured together onto the lake. Slowly, you led him beyond the crowd of revelers and further down the shoreline, where the evergreen trees cast knife-edged shadows and moonlight infused the untouched ice with a pale glow, as though lit from within.

Thranduil wobbled suddenly, his grip on your hand becoming viselike, and you turned to face him, taking both of his hands in yours, still leading him as you skated backwards. He smiled, acknowledging your help with a grateful nod, and a chuckle even broke from his lips when you drew him with you into a slow, wide circle around a black stump of driftwood that jutted up through the lake’s surface.

You slowed, still facing him, guiding his arms around your waist as he slid to a careful stop, and your hands skimmed up the satiny fabric of his coat to rest on his broad shoulders. His face reflected your grin as you looked up to meet his eyes.

“This is not so bad, then, is it?” you asked teasingly.

“It is not entirely unpleasant, no,” Thranduil smirked, and your laughter trilled in the cold air.

“Admit it, you are enjoying yourself.”

He leaned down, his lips close to yours, and purred, “that is owing more to the company than to the sport.”

Your hand went to his sculpted cheek and his mouth captured yours, and a dizzying thrill coursed through you. His lips were warm, soft, hinting at an undercurrent of insistent passion even in their tenderest caresses. His hair invited your fingers to bury themselves in its silky lengths, holding him closer yet, and as his teeth nipped gently at your bottom lip, you raised yourself on the toes of your skates to mold your body more closely to his.

In an instant, you felt your balance shift, and Thranduil’s hands left your body to flail futilely in the air. You instinctively seized him to steady yourself, and with a gasp and a grunt and the metallic rasp of the skates’ blades, you lay together in a graceless, tangled heap on the ice.

The shock of the fall and the chill of the ice seeping through your clothes left you momentarily breathless, but a chuckle began to bubble up from your chest, and you clapped a hand over your mouth to stifle it as you looked to your hapless lover, flat on his back on the frozen lake. His body seemed to be trembling, then quaking, and then his throaty laugh abruptly shattered the silence as he abandoned himself to the absurdity of the scene, and your own laughter joined his, echoing in the still night.

Thranduil reached for you, tucking your hair behind your ear as you leaned over him, giggling, and he sighed as he caught his breath. “Now, _meleth nín,_ ” he smiled wryly, propping himself on an elbow to press his lips to yours, “ _now_ shall you be content to sit with me by the fire?”

Your clothes were covered with a fine dusting of ice shavings and the cold stung your nose and seemed to have crept its way to your bones. Carefully, you hoisted yourself to your knees and stood upright once again, holding out your hands to him.

“Very well, my King,” you conceded, with a grin, “warm me with wine and kisses.“


End file.
